The Blackest of Widows
by MademoisellexPhantom
Summary: To some, the most frightening thing of all is a person who has lost the will to go on…To live. Why didn’t death scare Christine, this once radiant and angelic child? Without a reason Without Him., eternal rest did not seem too intimidating…


This is a little one-shot I came up with one late night…It came forth from my own fears, perspectives and an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer called Passion. Ye be warned, it is awfully morbid and angsty…Well, enjoy and please review...Oh and the phantom of the opera belongs to Gaston Leroux..So please dont sue me. 

**The Blackest of Widows**

Many things frightened Christine Daae.

Well…Many things _used_ to frighten her…Death, Hell, creatures, the Dark…Erik…But the things such as Spiders. They were just so terribly ugly! The long, abundant legs, the glowing, beady, penetrating red eyes, the black coarse hair…These were all things of horrible disgust! Were they not? It didn't seem to matter anymore, though…

To some, the most frightening thing of all is a person who has lost the will to go on…To live. Why didn't death scare Christine, this once radiant and angelic child? Without a reason (_Without Him._), eternal rest did not seem to intimidating…It did not seem so bad. It could possibly even be welcomed with open arms.

With time comes maturity. Responsibility. Second thoughts. And worst of all regret. She was but a little girl, a child when Erik entered her life…How was she to know the feelings she harbored for him? Was it really that easy to mistake love for lust…and dear sweet friendship for devotion?

Passion…Passion is what keeps us going. It is what brings a smile to our faces…Tears to our eyes. Without it, life would be empty. Like a dark endless hallway…So long and yet you still hope to find that there will be a door to freedom at the end. Without passion, the most joyous of moments would be meaningless, because the most painful and sorrowful events would not cause you to cry…They would not cause your heart to ache, your soul to weep. See, without despair, bliss would not seem so glorious would it? Like food that turns into ash inside of your mouth… and vanishes into nothingness. Like the purest of wines evaporating before it even got the chance to touch your lips. If one were to live without passion, perhaps they would find a peace of some sorts…No, no. Without passion, we would all truly be dead.

She sat, relishing in the numbness that the sweet alcohol did to her soul. Her mind kept drifting to him. The Angel of Music. Once he was gone, no longer in her life to hold her hand, Christine became so terribly lost. To her, he was not merely passionate. He _was _passion.

"SCUTTLE SCUTTLE!" The sound filled her sensitive ears. And, oh! To see what had caused it…A fuzzy black spider made her way around Christine's huddled form. She was, essentially minding her own business. Christine's heart did not stop in fear…She did not cry out in surprise…She just smiled, an eerily mature and knowing smile that came from years of hurt.

"Hello, Little Friend. How are you this…" Christine could not help but burst into hysterics at the thought of inquiring of a "fine" night. "…Night? You used to terrify me so! But not any longer. You are a harmless little creature…But so horrendously ugly! Yet somehow, I find you beautiful, in a strange way. You remind me of a man I once knew. He too was ugly. And feared, just like you! All he ever wanted was to be loved by people…By me. But I was too afraid! Fear is such a petty thing, do you not agree, Little Friend? This man I speak of to you, my dear friend, wanted to taste my flesh. He yearned for my body and soul. It was far too cruel of me to not grant him that much. Perhaps…Oh, perhaps you can compensate for him, little spider!" She paused to cradle the little creature in her shaking hands. She noticed a red hourglass like shape on its belly.

"Oh! You are a widow, little friend, just like me! I think I am the blackest widow to ever live…" The spider sank her fangs into Christine wrist, releasing a sweet, lethal toxin.

In a dreamy, far away voice, Christine said," How do I taste, Little Erik? Am I all that you hoped for? Do I take away the hurt? Please forgive me for not granting you this much earlier. She felt life slowly fading away…So she began to sing for Erik.

"Angel of Music, Guide and Guardian, grant to me your glory!" His voice, his sweet melodic voice seemed to join her!

"Oh, Little Spider, your voice sounds just like his." Christine closed her eyes to dream of the Angel of Music. She would never have to wake again. She went to sleep content knowing that Erik had told her once she was beautiful while resting.

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